Page 4 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
“You must have known, in those final moments, what your grandson had done,” Mercy said, stepping sideways to avoid Rat Tattoo’s grasp, still keeping steady eye contact with the elderly lady. “Or you would not be lingering here now, attacking anyone who tries to move you out of this house.”
“No, he would not… he…” Pallid lips writhed in sudden anger. “How could he leave me like that? His own grandmother. I tookdaysto die!”
“Ghosts always have unfinished business,” Mercy said, softening her tone. “Ghosts always want something. What is it you want, grandmother? You can tell me.”
It was true. The dead who returned were not quite who they used to be. Dying damaged the different parts of the soul, and what lingered on was the hurt, the betrayal, the grief. The dead came back because they had unfinished business, always, and ignoring that context was deeply shortsighted. In Mercy’s professional opinion, anyway.
“I want…” The ghost shuddered, grew taller and broader. The stick-thin shoulders filled out, broadening with muscle. Ghostly etherealness solidified into weighty spirit-flesh. Her eyes went wide, the red light behind them bright as a beacon. She opened her mouth, jaw unhinging as smoke poured out. “I want justice!”
“Thought so.” Mercy dived for cover behind the rickety sofa-bed.
Rat Tattoo, quick on the uptake, dived to the opposite corner.
Only Chungpo remained, frozen and terrified, crouching in a corner. “Ahma—”
The ghost shrieked and vomited a stream of fire. Everything in front of her melted or caught alight. Mercy, already too hot, felt a fresh raft of sweat break across her skin.
Chungpo screamed and launched himself through the single window, narrowly avoiding a fiery death. He burst through the cheap glass and landed on the eaves just outside. Mercy could no longer see him, but she could hear the frantic slap of his feet as he desperately leaped to another balcony with a crash.
“What did you do!” Rat Tattoo yelled, still cowering. “What the hell, what the hell, what the—”
“Chungpo!” the ghost moaned, loudly enough that the picture frames rattled. “My murderous, ungrateful brat!”
“Go after him, get your justice!” Mercy called out, hands cupped over her mouth. “You can do it, grandmother!”
The ghost vomited another jet of fire and took off, lithe and fast in death as she had not been in life. She flew through the same window, speeding after Chungpo. Moments later, screams and yells echoed from the streets beyond as terrified pedestrians fled from the spectacle of a red-eyed, fire-breathing old woman.
Even that did not last very long. Chungpo howled, the sound entangled with the roar of his grandmother’s flames. His cries cut off abruptly as death took him. The noise of fire faded to a trickle; her vengeance was satisfied.
The sudden stillness was breathtaking. Bao sat in the center of the quiet room, cleaning perfectly white paws. If he was calm, that meant the danger had passed; the old lady was at rest.
“Job done.” Mercy stood and dusted the ash from her hands, trying vainly to fan some air on her face. It was hot as a metal furnace in here, not helped by the sofa still being on fire. “We did good, little cat.”
“Are you crazy?” Rat Tattoo grabbed her arm, whipping her round so hard it gave her a crick in the neck. “That ghost killed him because of what you said!”
Mercy punched his throat with her free arm. Rat Tattoo wheeled backward, gagging, and tried to draw his watermelon chopper.
In a blink, Bao rippled and grew larger, tiny body burgeoning to the size of a leopard. A bone-white, fluffy-as-a-cloud leopard. He leaped at the startled young man, knocking him to the ground. Enormous, claw-tipped paws pressed stocky shoulders to the floor, heavy with unexpected weight.
Rat Tattoo lay flat, breathing hard from the punch to his throat. Still clutching the chopper.
Mercy drew her own knife and knelt over him, the blade tip pressed to the underside of Rat Tattoo’s chin. “Stop opening your mouth, small son. Stupid things come out every time you do.”
He stared at her, eyes round like teacups. He had rather delicate skin for such a hard man.
“Did you know that some ghosts can change how corporeal they are? Easier for them to do if there is less light.” Mercy prized the watermelon chopper from his hand, examining the blade; it was dull and cheap, notched in four places.“That is why ghosts in Kowloon are so strong, compared to the ghosts in the rest of Hong Kong. It is always dark here.”
She tossed the cleaver through the ruined wall of the burning flat, into the alleyway beyond. “Bao is particularly strong, because I have been feeding him for years. Not only can he change his size and corporeality, but his bite will fuck you up—whether it is night or day, whether you’re a living human or a dead spirit.”
Bao growled in agreement.
“You murdered Chungpo,” Rat Tattoo said, tightly. “Cobra Lily will not be impressed!”
Mercy laughed. “My boss, whose name is too good for your mouth, doesn’t take kindly to anyone in Kowloon who kills women. Especially one’s own grandmother. Chungpo was already dead no matter what I did, you wooden chicken. I just saved Cobra Lily the hassle of doing it herself. Believe me, she will be happy.”
Rat Tattoo’s eyes swam with insults, but for once, his mouth was silent. He was learning.
“Be glad I don’t mark you down for accessory to his murder. You are not innocent either, are you?” she said, pointedly. “Covering for your friend, lying to—”
